Mom please, just let me eat my fries
by thePhonyOversized
Summary: After fighting with his mom over curly fries, Marshall leaves home. And it's only after 100 years does he decide to go back. "Mom please, just let me eat my fries. I bought them so they are mine. But you won't let me, won't let me eat my fries. Oh I tried, but you saw me try to steal a fry. Mommy, I know that you love me. It's just the way you show it, I almost didn't know it..."


Recommended "easy-listening" song: "Northern Downpour" by Panic! at the Disco :)

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**"Mom please, just let me eat my fries"**

_Music and Lyrics by: Marshall Lee, the Vampire King_

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"Hmm-mmm," Marshall Lee hummed. _One, two, three_, he counted all the way to six as he slid his thumb down the strings of his guitar. He was slumped on the tattered sofa of his living room, the red instrument resting on his lap. His left hand danced up and down each fret, the tips of his fingers sliding through each note with ease. His eyes closed, and Marshall let himself drown in the multitude of thoughts flooding his mind.

A single memory caught him by surprise. He had almost forgotten about this one – it'd been almost a hundred years, after all.

His mouth had begun to form words, a tune accompanying each one before he realized what was happening. His hands had unconsciously complied, strumming and switching between chords before his mind could register them.

"Mom please, just let me eat my fries," he sang, the emotion in his voice resonating so clearly it was as if each word was reopening a forgotten wound. "I bought them, so they are mine."

The image of his mother flashed through his mind. She was wearing a weathered blue dress with a yellowish white apron tied around her waist. Her hair was in a very loose bun, several strands slipping off and hanging around her face. Mama Lee's pallid face was twisted into an expression of extreme rage.

"But you won't let me – won't let me eat my fries," Marshall crooned, the memory becoming more vivid with each note. "Oh I tried, but you saw me try to steal a fry . . . "

"_Marshall Lee, you put down that fry this instant!"_

The memory was so clear to him it almost felt real.

Mama Lee's booming voice startled a teenage Marshall, causing him to nearly drop his curly fries. He gingerly replaced the fry he was planning to eat into the box as she shouted at him.

His mother's eyes shifted between Marshall and the curly fries. She had heard about those. It was new on the menu – the diner in town served them. She knew about the odious amount of grease and other unhealthy chemicals they used to cook them, and there was no way she was allowing her son to ingest something so _infected_.

"What's wrong with eating curly fries?" Marshall whined, casually wiping oil onto his Rolling Stones t-shirt; a brownish stain now decorated the corner. This seemed to aggravate his mother even further.

"I've told you how many times – _your shirts are not napkins!_ Do not wipe things on them! Do you even _listen_ to what I say to you?" she shrieked, gesturing toward the brand new stain on Marshall's shirt and the curly fries he was still holding possessively. "Honestly Marshall, I do this for your own good."

"Oh _really_ now," Marshall drawled, rolling his eyes to further provoke his already exasperated mother. "Well, _I, _personally, don't believe you."

"_Excuse me?_" Mama Lee screeched. "That is _not_ the way to speak to your mother –"

"Mother," Marshall said abruptly. "You keep calling yourself my 'mother,'" he air-quoted the word. "Do you even _really_ know what it means to be a mother?"

Mama Lee's hands flew to her hips, digging into the cloth of her apron in her fury. She opened her mouth to speak, but Marshall interrupted her.

"You keep ordering me around, telling me that this is 'all for my own good,' and you're only doing this 'because you care about me,' but _honestly_," he said, his voice growing louder and angrier with each word, "If you _really _cared about me, if you _really, truly_ wanted to watch out for me – god, if you were _really_ a mother to me, you'd actually take the time to listen to what _I_ want, to what _I _have to say, and get to know the _real _me – not some image of the 'perfect son' you've created!"

Marshall's chest was heaving up and down. He had shouted that last bit, taking a step forward and looking right into his mother's eyes. Mama Lee gawked at him, shocked into silence.

Still holding the box of curly fries, Marshall sprinted to his room and quickly grabbed what he would need - a backpack filled with extra clothes, a toothbrush, his electric guitar, and of course, his still filled-to-the-brim box of curly fries. He slung the backpack over his shoulder, took one last glance at his bedroom, and then slammed the door behind him.

Mama Lee was still frozen in the living room. She looked up at Marshall as he bounded down the stairs. He had a backpack over his shoulder, one hand holding his guitar, and another holding the curly fries. His eyes were trained on the door.

"Marshall, where are you –"

"I've had enough of this," Marshall replied, a pang of guilt suddenly tightening his chest. He kept his head down, his eyes glancing everywhere but his mother. "I'm leaving," he said quickly, his voice faltering more than he intended.

He dashed to the door without waiting for a reply. A part of him wanted his mother to shout at him, to stop him from leaving, but all he got from Mama Lee was a deafening silence that made him want to rip his hair off.

Taking a deep breath, he kicked the door open and stepped outside. He stumbled down the front steps, tripping on his tangled shoelaces. With a long, deep sigh, he took one last look at his house. His mother had finally stepped out, walking toward him slowly and cautiously. Marshall had half a mind to stop and let her catch up, but he didn't. He kept walking.

"M-Marshall!" He heard her stutter. He snapped his head back. She was at the bottom of the steps, holding out a shaking hand as if to reach him. Her eyes were glassy and red.

Marshall's footsteps slowed, but he did not stop. Even if he knew that a part of him was breaking, he had to keep going. His mother had been driving him batty for far too long – he had to leave or else he would end up hating her. He _never_ wanted to hate her.

He turned back to the front, a long dirt road unwinding before him. He knew where it led – it would take him to the small town where he spent most of his free time. But beyond that – beyond that meager town – he had no clue.

"_Marshall!_" Mama Lee cried. Marshall could hear several anguished sobs follow her words, as well as hurried footsteps nearing him. But this time, he didn't look back.

He choked back tears as he took longer strides, increasing in speed until he was running. He ran until his mother's echoing voice was so far behind him she almost sounded like birds crowing in the distance.

"Mommy, I know that you love me. It's just the way you show it, I almost didn't know it . . . " Marshall sang, longing coating his every word.

He opened his eyes as he played the last few notes. His fingers lingered on the strings longer than usual. Marshall blinked several times, trying to prevent the familiar tears from falling.

He slumped back into his sofa, holding his guitar limply with one arm. It half hung in the air, and half rested on his lap. Marshall's eyes traced the familiar outline of the family axe – or what remained of it. His mother had turned it into a guitar for him nearly 105 years ago – before he left, when he and his mother still got along.

Marshall flipped over his guitar, the strings buzzing with sound as it landed on his lap. A little note was scribbled on the edge, the black scrawl clear against the red paint.

"_Happy Birthday to my baby boy. Make your Mama proud!"_

He couldn't stop them now. The tears were falling faster than he could keep up. He hastily wiped them on his sleeve, trying to erase any traces of his sobbing from his face.

Marshall cleared his throat and shakily trilled, "What kind of son leaves his mom for fries and doesn't look her in the eye?" He swallowed before continuing. "Mommy I saw tears there, I didn't know how much you really cared."

Marshall's final notes were cut as he choked back more tears. A strangled sob escaped him, tightening his stomach. His chest heaved up and down, and he gripped onto his guitar even tighter.

"Ah, screw it," he breathed, gingerly placing his guitar on the sofa as he stood up. He picked up a stray black marker on the floor, uncapping it as he turned to a nearby wall. He tapped it on the edge of his finger to test the ink before hurriedly drawing a large circle, a happy face decorating the center. He dashed to his refrigerator, searching through a mass of empty milk cartons before finding one with a sufficient amount. He opened it and a sour odor floated from inside.

"I hope this still works," he said, keeping the carton an arm's length from his nose. He returned to his drawing, darting the milk carton as he neared it.

Marshall muttered the chant under his breath, still half unsure whether he was ready to do this. Thoughts were still gushing through his mind as he flew into the Nightosphere.

He appeared near the back door. He looked around, but the house seemed desolated. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open and entered.

The house looked almost exactly the same as he left it, except a thick coat of dust now covered everything but the picture frames, which looked like it had been polished and cleaned several times a day. The pictures of him that decorated his old home had multiplied considerably – a few of them were frameless and stuck on the wall in a cluster.

One in particular had caught Marshall's eye. He pinched the edge of the photograph, tugging at it lightly to unstick it. It was a photo of him as a child. Countless patches of dirt splotched his skin and clothes, but a goofy grin a mile wide was plastered on his juvenile face.

"Marshall?"

Marshall turned around. His mother was staring at him, a familiar gawk on her face. A faded pink dress draped over her frail figure, and her hair was tied into the same bun it's always been in. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her cheeks hollowed in – signs that she had lost a considerable amount of weight.

"Hi mom," Marshall smiled nervously, holding up an awkward hand and wriggling his fingers.

"My baby!" she rushed toward him, tackling him into the tightest hug she could manage. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she pressed him toward her.

"Aw mom, don't cry," Marshall choked out. He hesitantly patted his mother's back as she squeezed him.

"I'm sorry, it's just, I haven't seen you in _so_ long," Mama Lee said, sniffling as she let go.

Mama Lee couldn't believe it. After a hundred years, her son had finally come back. Through her tearful eyes, she took in the sight of him. Marshall was wearing a red flannel shirt, which had been buttoned unevenly so one side was longer than the other. His jeans had several holes in them, and so did his sneakers. Two red bites decorated his neck. And he was floating. Her son was floating.

"When did you become . . . a vampire?" she muttered weakly, afraid to cause another conflict.

Marshall laughed. "It's a long story."

"Well," Mama Lee said, her hands instinctively flying to her hips. Marshall braced himself, unconsciously recoiling. She chortled. "I'm not going to shout at you."

Marshall straightened up, looking her in the eyes. He remained silent, but his lips curled into a small smirk.

"The diner down the street released a new flavor of curly fries. I think it's got melted cheese and barbeque powder now," Mama Lee said, her eyes shining with newfound effulgence. "We could go down there and eat some while you tell me your story."

It was Marshall's turn to gawk. "Are you actually _offering_ to buy me some curly fries?"

Mama Lee chuckled. "I suppose eating it _once in a while_ would be alright."

Marshall couldn't find the words to express what he was feeling. His mother beamed at him. "Would you like to go?"

He nodded, his face breaking into a grin a mile wide. "I'd love to."

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(a/n):

This my first ever Adventure Time fic, ahhh! I hope it turned out well :) In the actual not gender bender AT, Marcie's dad is kind of negligent, so I figured that "Mama Lee" - I named her that since I didn't know what else to call her, don't judge me! - should be the opposite. I don't know, it kind of just fit that Marshall would leave because his mom is _too_ there, instead of not there at all.

Oh, and just for clarification, Marshall, just like Marcie, was turned into a vampire later in his life, which is why he was running out of his house instead of floating out of it. Mama Lee is also Ruler of the Nightosphere, like Marcie's dad, I just didn't put it in there hehe

Schoe xx

**REVIEW!**

(Or I will eat your fries)


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